


Eyes Wide Open

by Haberdasher



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Death, Death Wish, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher
Summary: Gerard Keay finds out that there’s more to the afterlife than being painfully bound to a book for all eternity, featuring one Timothy Stoker.
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Tim Stoker, Gerard Keay/Tim Stoker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 110





	Eyes Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> Props to [Sunny](https://divorcedmilfaddict.tumblr.com/) for betaing this and helping me rein in my inner comma gremlin!

Gerard Keay wasn’t sure _what_ he was, or _why_ he was, or _how_ he was, or even for that matter where and when he was, exactly.

But then again, that Gerard _was_ was enough of a surprise in and of itself.

He hadn’t entirely trusted that... Jon, was it? Sure, Jon had torn Gerard’s page out of the book when he’d asked, but Gerard knew better than to assume that was the end of the story. He didn’t put it past Jon to keep the page as a sick sort of prize or to shove it into the Institute’s Artefact Storage or to do something else that wasn’t getting rid of the bloody thing already.

But this... this felt different. It didn’t hurt to exist now, not like it did in the book where life and death mingled unnaturally, where he both was and was not dead and that contradiction ate at everything in his being. It wasn’t quite like being alive, though, either. It was... still. Still and calm and quiet.

All things considered, Gerard wouldn’t object to a bit of quiet.

Gerard didn’t see Jon or the Hunters that had kept him imprisoned for so long or anyone else he recognized for that matter, but he saw his surroundings just the same, though he couldn’t place the area around him at a glance. A handful of cars plodded along driving on the left, so he wasn’t in America at least. Hotels, businesses, and homes mingled together oddly--some sort of vacation destination? A resort town perhaps, or a tourist trap of another variety?

Gerard thought he could make out the smell of sea salt in the air, but he wasn’t even sure which ocean he was near.

Then he heard what sounded like a calliope playing in the distance, what sounded like a circus just beginning to open its doors, and Gerard still didn’t know where he was or how long it had been since he had spoken to Jon but he had a sick feeling he knew _exactly_ what that music meant.

Gerard followed the music, hurried to find its source, and evidently the true meaning of that music wasn’t known to the general public yet because while he was hurtling towards instead of away from certain danger the handful of people he encountered on nearby sidewalks, walking unhurriedly towards destinations of their own, didn’t give him so much as a first glance, let alone a second one. They just went about their business as if he wasn’t even there, as if the end of the world wasn’t in progress a few blocks away, remaining blissfully ignorant to everything that didn’t fit nicely into the small circle of their own lives.

He wondered what it felt like to have a pedestrian life like theirs must be, to go about your business unaware that there were eldritch powers scheming at all times to bring about terrible new worlds of fear and horror. Living a life like that had never really been an option for him, after all. He’d been in the thick of it since the day he was born. Since his mother set her eyes on him for the first time.

Gerard had managed to pin down the source of the calliope music to a large, dilapidated building and approached said building just in time to see it collapse in front of him, a series of sizable explosions turning what had apparently once been some sort of museum into a pile of rubble and debris.

The music stopped when the building fell, which Gerard supposed was a good sign. While he hadn’t cared about it terribly much when he was bound to the book, stuck in a half-life of torment for the foreseeable future, now that he could explore the world more freely again he’d prefer it not end or get apocalyptically transformed to the point where it couldn’t truly be considered the same world anymore.

Still, it seemed oddly anticlimactic for something as grand and strange as the Unknowing to be stopped by a building collapsing around it. Gertrude’s plan would probably have been a bit subtler, but then, Gertrude wasn’t around to carry it out anymore, so explosions it was, apparently. Jon’s handiwork there, Gerard assumed. Apparently the little he knew about the Unknowing, and how Gertrude had been preparing to prevent it, had been enough in the end. Good to know their agreement hadn’t been entirely one-sided.

He looked for survivors, human or otherwise, a task that’d been ingrained in him for some time now. He was no Gertrude Robinson, wasn’t the type to stop grand rituals threatening all of humanity all by himself, but he did his part to save a few people at least, spare those that could still escape from the horrors that haunted this world.

Gerard’s eyes fell on a woman whose blue hijab had been tattered and torn in the explosion, a few stray bits of debris clinging to her back and legs as she lay on the ground near the periphery of the destruction, clearly breathing but also clearly not getting up in a hurry.

He edged closer to the woman, trying not to look too closely at the loose strands of hair that had escaped her hijab. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

No response, which wasn’t entirely unanticipated, but still wasn’t a good sign.

Gerard reached out to grab the woman’s arm and check her pulse--even if the Unknowing was over now, a building collapsing around you could easily lead to more mundane injuries that needed tending to sooner rather than later--but his own arm never made contact with hers, instead reaching through her flesh as easily as if he were moving through thin air, and now that he got a closer look at himself, Gerard could see that his body was ever so slightly translucent.

In hindsight it made sense, it was logical enough that one form of undeath where he couldn’t fully interact with the living world would give way only to another, but the realization still came as a rather unpleasant jolt.

Gerard could hear the sound of an ambulance siren ringing out somewhere in the distance as he backed away from the woman, who remained seemingly unconscious and definitely unaware of his attempt at contact.

Alright, so he’d been dead, and he was still dead, and being able to interact with the living only under certain circumstances wasn’t entirely new... now he just needed to figure out what the new set of circumstances for that were. And whether he was going to stay like this for the long term, or whether he was going to get shunted into some other form of undeath before he had the time to examine things properly. And whether this was just regular death now, the End in its final form, or whether there was something more going on here. And perhaps whether this all meant Jon had actually burned his page from the book like he’d promised.

Christ, he could use a cigarette... but he still wasn’t getting one any time soon, was he? Figured.

As Gerard stood by the remains of what had been the staging area for the Unknowing, he saw a lone figure making its way towards him from out of the rubble.

The man approaching Gerard was tall and fairly muscular, with a short-sleeve shirt that showed off dark tattoos on his arms and hair that was clearly a natural inky black, the kind that Gerard had tried and failed to emulate with brand after brand of cheap hair dye over the years. His eyes were wide, his skin tawny, his body tense, and honestly, he was pretty good-looking despite (or perhaps because of) his unassuming and casual clothing, though that was one opinion Gerard figured he would keep to himself for the time being.

Perhaps most importantly, though, the man’s body was the same sort of translucent as Gerard’s own, and he stepped through the debris around him as though it wasn’t even there.

As the man drew closer, Gerard could see a deep fire in his eyes.

“Who the hell are you?”

Gerard resisted the urge to flinch, to back away, instead standing his ground and looking coolly at the other man. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Yeah, sure, but I asked first, and I was _here_ first, and if it came down to it I’m pretty sure I could punch your lights out first, so...”

The other man probably wasn’t wrong, when it came to that. Gerard Keay was many things, but especially skilled at hand-to-hand combat was not one of them, and his would-be opponent had the advantage when it came to both build and stature.

Though he wasn’t sure if they even _could_ get into a fistfight now, given the state they were both in... still, probably better not to find out the hard way.

Gerard raised his hands in the air, open palms facing the other man in a clear gesture of peace. “Alright, I’m-”

But before he could finish his sentence, the other man’s eyes widened further and he cut off Gerard’s speech. “Hang on, I think I’ve heard about you. Are you _Gerard Keay_?”

Gerard wasn’t sure what to make of this other man apparently being able to recognize him on sight (admittedly, his eye tattoos _were_ fairly distinctive) while he couldn’t say the same the other way around, but it didn’t seem like a _good_ sign.

Still, no use hiding from it. “Yeah, that’s me. You’ve heard of me, then?”

“Oh yeah. Christ, they weren’t kidding about the bad dye job, were they... but wait, aren’t you _dead_?”

“Sure. So are you.”

In the seconds that followed, Gerard realized that his words had probably been a fair bit more blunt than necessary, and he half-expected the man to start freaking out about being so straightforwardly informed that he was almost certainly no longer among the living, but instead the man just shook his head and shot Gerard a strange smile.

“Suppose you’ve got me there.” The man snorted in a way that was clearly meant to convey humor and just as clearly was entirely devoid of any before adding, “I had a lot of ideas about what death would be like... wasn’t banking on it being quite like this.”

“That makes two of us.”

“No insider scoop on the whole afterlife front, then? Haven’t you been dead for years already?”

Gerard considered his response for a long moment, trying to decide how much he was willing to share with this stranger before deciding that, hell, he was already dead (twice over, even), so what did he have left to lose? “Yeah, and I spent most of that being stuck in a bloody book. This?” Gerard made a broad, sweeping hand gesture that encompassed himself, the stranger, and the collapsed building next to them. “This is new.”

“Damn. No use having a ghost buddy without getting some handy intel out of the deal.”

Gerard shook his head and let out a soft sigh. “Look, I’m not your _ghost buddy_ , I don’t even know your name!”

“Oh, of course, where are my manners? Lost them with everything else, I suppose... Tim Stoker here.”

Tim extended a hand, which Gerard eyed warily. If the name was supposed to mean something to him... well, it didn’t, but Tim also didn’t seem to be keen on explaining himself any further, giving up who he was beyond a meaningless name, elaborating about why he was hanging around dead at the scene of the attempted Unknowing with knowledge enough to recognize Gerard’s appearance at a glance.

He seemed nice enough, though, and Gerard was curious as to whether his inability to contact others, as demonstrated when he’d tried to help the woman with the hijab, would still apply to somebody else stuck in the same state of being as himself.

After a bit of hesitation, Gerard reached out and reciprocated Tim’s gesture, engaging him in a brief but firm handshake. There was no warmth in Tim’s grip, no residual body heat seeping out at the point of contact, but there was strength in it, and Gerard could feel a slight roughness to the other man’s fingers.

“Now, this might sound awkward-”

“’m sure I’ve heard worse.” Tim muttered in a voice just low enough that Gerard wasn’t sure if it was meant for his ears.

“-but you seem awfully chipper for someone who just died.”

The thin smile on Tim’s face that Gerard had suspected wasn’t entirely genuine faded away entirely, replaced by a thoughtful frown. “Yeah, well... it was cancer that got you, right?”

Gerard nodded silently, unsure where Tim was going with this. It was surreal, to just quietly nod as a stranger casually and correctly references your cause of death, but then, this was a surreal conversation to begin with.

“But you must not have known for long, ‘cause you were traipsing all around the world before that... maybe... maybe it’s different when you see it coming. When you know it’ll happen, and you’re ready for it.”

As Gerard processed the implications there, he nodded again, trying to make the gesture more somber than before.

“Reminds me, how’d you even get here, anyway? Didn’t you die in America?”

Gerard shrugged. “Beats me. I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.”

“Great Yarmouth. That-” Tim pointed to the pile of rubble. “-used to be a creepy old wax museum. Current state’s an improvement, if you ask me.”

Gerard let out a short laugh, though he wasn’t entirely sure that the comment was solely meant as a joke. “Good to know.”

Tim shot Gerard a weak smile as he added, “Suppose I’m a bit biased, though, given that I’m the one who blew the place up.”

“You-?” Gerard looked back at what had apparently once been a wax museum and was now well and truly exploded. “I- I thought Jon did that?”

“Oh _hell_ no. He and the others helped, sure, but I held the detonator, I made the call, I get the credit here.”

Tim was still smiling as he said this, smiling as he admitted to blowing a building up--and, given his current state, doing so almost certainly while he was still inside of it. Maybe he thought that joking about it would stop Gerard from examining his words too closely, from realizing what he was really confessing to, but Gerard caught it all.

Before Gerard could think of a proper response to that, though, Tim kept on speaking.

“How d’you even know Jon? Is there some spooky monster groupchat I should know about or something?”

Gerard sighed and pressed one hand to his temple. “First off, not a monster, thanks.”

Tim made a show of looking Gerard up and down before saying “Sure.” with what must have been all the sarcastic uncertainty he could muster at a moment’s notice.

“Look, whatever else has happened along the way, I think we’re on an even platform now, so unless you _meant_ to call yourself a monster-”

Tim’s gaze went from focusing on Gerard to on Tim’s own hands, and a bit of that thin smile slipped away. “Shit. Okay. Let’s- let’s table that bit for now, then, yeah?”

“Sure.” Gerard tried to force his frustration and suspicion into his pronouncement of the word, but most of it didn’t manage to stick. “Second, he tore my page out of the book back in America; I told him what I knew about the Unknowing. Given... everything...” Gerard gestured vaguely to their surroundings once more. “I’m guessing he used my info to help stop it, and my page got destroyed in the process.”

“Right, yeah, that makes sense, because nobody tells me fucking _anything_ around here-” Tim tried to kick a piece of rubble away, but couldn’t make contact, his leg instead arcing up into the air uninhibited before he began to pace. “Didn’t tell me about the _circus_ , didn’t tell me about meeting _Gerard Keay_ , what _else_ is that bastard hiding from me?”

The question was probably meant to be rhetorical, but Gerard couldn’t help but respond just the same, if only because he wanted to see the reaction on Tim’s face if his guess was right. “Did he tell you about the Hunters?”

“...what hunters?”

“He was with two Hunters back in America, that’s how he got my page in the first place-”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

Tim looked exactly as outraged as Gerard had imagined he would, and Gerard couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the sight of it.

“That funny to you, is it?”

Gerard calmed his laughter, but he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. “Kind of, yeah. I mean, I dunno how you even knew Jon, but the two of us got on well enough...”

“He was my asshole boss. Told him as much a few minutes ago, actually.” Tim paused for a moment before raising one finger in the air and amending, “Asshole _ex_ -boss. Like hell I’m doing any work for him now.”

“Oh, so you were an archival assistant... Gertrude’s assistants didn’t last long either, from what I heard-”

“That’s _not_ what this is.”

Gerard raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“This isn’t some cycle, some magic bullshit, something that was bound to happen no matter what--I made a _choice_. And nobody forced my hand in it, either. Hell, Elias didn’t even want me there, but fuck him-”

“Or don’t.”

Tim clearly wasn’t expecting Gerard to interrupt him, because he stopped mid-rant, looking over at Gerard with a strange look on his face.

“Have you _seen_ that man? That would not be a good time! And he’d probably have that smug little smirk on his face the entire time, too.”

Tim hesitated for a moment before bursting out into loud, raucous laughter and pressing a hand against his eyes (which probably didn’t actually impair his vision much, given that Gerard could see Tim’s eyes almost as clearly as before). “Oh, I _like_ you.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

“Shut up.”

Gerard rolled his eyes theatrically, fighting the urge to respond with a “Make me” and see how far Tim would actually go in trying. Instead, Gerard settled on a response that changed the topic of conversation less confrontationally.

“Actually, you having been an archival assistant fits one of my theories for, well, how we can talk in the first place. Working in the Institute’s archives makes you Eye-touched, and as for me...” Gerard looked down, pointedly, at one of his knuckles, at one of the many eye tattoos scattered across his body. “I’m right there with you. It’s fitting, too, as an afterlife for those connected to the Eye--being here but unable to interact with the living world, only getting to _watch_...”

Tim’s eyes turned from fire to cold steel in an instant.

“No. No, that can’t be right. Those bastards already ruined my life, they can’t have taken the afterlife from me too, taken...” Tim’s speech trailed off abruptly, but as his form started shaking and the slightest hint of tears started welling up in his eyes, he forced out another bitter “ _No_.”

“It’s just one idea, but it’d explain why it’s just us here--I’m sure we’re not the first ones to die in Great Yarmouth, after all. Unless... you know the old trope about ghosts having unfinished business on earth, I’ve got loads of my own that’d probably qualify...”

Tim shook his head emphatically. “No, no, that’s not it, either. That-” He pointed at the pile of rubble that was only a few short minutes ago the site of an attempted world-changing ritual. “That _was_ my unfinished business right there, and it’s sure as hell finished now, isn’t it?”

Gerard looked over at the rubble, though it wasn’t terribly changed from before; an ambulance had made it to the scene, and a first responder was helping that woman with the hijab that Gerard had seen earlier, but what remained of the building itself was more or less untouched. “Looks like, yeah.”

Tim snorted with mild amusement.

“Only other thing I can think of is it’s something to do with the Unknowing itself-”

The fire returned to Tim’s eyes, but what it burned with now was not laughter.

“A parting gift from the circus?”

“Maybe. Dunno. All I’ve got is a bunch of theories with no way to test them.”

“Actually, I’ve got an idea about that bit.”

“Oh?”

“There was a... a _colleague_ of mine-” The way Tim said “colleague” left Gerard very certain that there was another, more fitting term he could be using in its place, that his connection to this “colleague” went deeper than a shared workplace, though he didn’t have a clue as to the details. “-we worked in the archives together, but she died in the Institute about a year ago.”

Gerard let out a low whistle. “Jon really is following in Gertrude’s footsteps there, huh?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Maybe if you take me on a couple dates first.”

Tim ran his hand across his eyes again and down his face, then elbowed Gerard in the ribs for that one; it ached a little, but he supposed he deserved it.

“ _So_ we can go try and find her, since she’d be--how’d you phrase it? ‘Eye-touched?’” Tim made air quotes around the word, and for some reason that brought a smile to Gerard’s face. “Same as us.”

“That... yeah, that’d probably work, actually.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

Gerard rolled his eyes again. “So we’re heading to London, then?”

Gerard’s memories of London were decidedly... mixed. He’d lived there with his mother, though they’d done more than their fair share of traveling along the way, and that was still what came to mind first when he thought of the city, though Gertrude and the Magnus Institute were _different_ at least, if not necessarily much better. But he wasn’t going to object to the only thing they had that vaguely resembled a plan just because he didn’t much care for London as a city.

“Suppose so. Do you know the way there?”

Gerard blinked a few times in confusion. “I figured _you_ would, I was just in _America_ , and didn’t you just come from London?”

“Well, we stopped at a bed and breakfast for the night first. And I wasn’t the one driving.”

Gerard let out a long, somewhat exaggerated sigh. “So the plan is a road trip from here to London, but with no car and no directions. This sounds like a _great_ plan.”

“Fuck you too.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

The look on Tim’s face was priceless.

“Hey, Gerard-”

“Gerry.”

And that priceless look was gone in a moment’s time, replaced with one of blank befuddlement.

“What?”

Gerard scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Gerard was what my mum called me. I always-” He let out a soft laugh, one born more of embarrassment and awkwardness than actual amusement, as he remembered telling Jon this same thing--except that with Jon he’d said that he wanted his _friends_ to call him Gerry, while his feelings for Tim were... well, he was going to phrase things slightly differently this time, at any rate. “I always wanted someone special to call me Gerry.”

“A-alright then. _Gerry_. As I was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted.” Tim’s words were harsh, but the tone was playful rather than biting, and Tim chewed on his lip absentmindedly for a moment before continuing. “If it’s just you and me here in whatever afterlife this is, at least until we find someone else... well, honestly, you wouldn’t be my first choice of people to be stuck with, not gonna lie. But you’re not on the bottom of the list, either.”

Gerard wasn’t sure who would be at the top of his list for such a thing, but he knew who would be at the very bottom of the list for him, and it definitely wasn’t one Tim Stoker. “Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

“So. To London?”

Gerry reached out with one hand, brushing against one of Tim’s, and if he had a heartbeat still it would have sped up when Tim’s hand took hold of his own, his grip loose but firm.

“To London. Provided you have at least some idea how to get there. Cardinal directions, maybe?”

Tim stared off into nothingness for a moment as he thought. “Southwest, I think?”

“Christ, we’re doomed.”

“Fuck off.”

They both burst out laughing, their grip on one another’s hands unyielding, as they prepared to make what was sure to be a long and winding journey together.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a slight chance I'll write more of this if people are into it enough, but for now I'm considering this a oneshot.  
> If you liked this, consider following me on tumblr at [haberdashing](https://haberdashing.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
